


The Night is Young but We Are Not

by snowyfoxpaws



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Cravings, M/M, Magical Pregnancy, Mood Swings, Morning Sickness, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-31
Updated: 2014-04-16
Packaged: 2018-01-17 16:47:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1395028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowyfoxpaws/pseuds/snowyfoxpaws
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>England is difficult to deal with on even the best of days. Becoming pregnant has only just made it that much worse. A short collection of scenes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Morning Sickness

**Author's Note:**

> Story originally posted on Hetalia Kink Meme at Dreamwidth.

Pregnancy was not entirely unheard of among the nations.  
  
It happened in that when-a-man-loves-a-woman sort of way, although whether  _love_  was involved or-- _hell_ \--even a  _woman_ , it mattered very little. It wasn't that they, as countries, took to popping out children after a tussle in some hay, but it had happened here and there, like a fine dusting of humanity, and, this time, England had the misfortune of experiencing this phenomenon first hand.  
  
He hadn't known right away that one night of international exchange would end up like this. There had been no warning. And at first he had simply believed he had caught a stomach bug and had proceeded to caution others from catching the same. Soon, however, China approached him with a little box and a urine sample later he became aware that this was a little  _more_  than a stomach bug.  
  
America, the insufferable buffoon, had been nothing short of overjoyed.  
  
So with this development well under way, their leaders had had no choice but to relocate one of them and after much grousing and flouncing and complaining it ended up being America that had to move. America didn't mind so much, but his boss was unhappy with his nation working out of London.  
  
England didn't care. He was going to balloon up due to the git and, therefore, he wanted him to take responsibility for it. Potentially swollen ankles and all.  
  
It was all his fault, after all.  
  
Ever cheerful, America simply went with whatever it was he was being told to do at any given moment, until eventually they were living together in Arthur's old home on the outskirts of his heart and soul.  
  
Despite his minor victory, moving day had come and gone and he found the entire arrangement to be just as troublesome as it was convenient. He was already two months in, but his stomach seemed to be pushed to its limit with stress and he found food almost impossible to keep down.  
  
Now, for instance, was one of those times.  
  
It was mid-afternoon, just after tea, and he was enjoying the time by feeling his stomach lurch and twist with agony as he emptied it into the toilet. It felt rather like he had taken up binge drinking again but without, well, the  _alcohol_  part...  
  
America was standing in the doorway, watching him with a sort of irritating and motherly hover. "Do you need anything?"  
  
Dry heaving into the bowl, England was in no position to tell him to sod off so he merely settled for a dignified finger.  
  
He heard a soft laugh at that followed by, "I'll go make you some of that tea the doctor suggested." And the idiot was gone.  
  
It had been like that a lot lately-- England in a terrible mood and America more unphased by it than usual. It was wholly obnoxious, really. He felt like some kind of de-clawed kitten, with the way he was being treated. Hiss and growl as he may, America simply didn't take it seriously.  
  
Not that he really wanted him to, but he did have  _some_  dignity.  
  
Wavering on his feet as he stood, he doused his face with water before wiping his mouth out and brushing his teeth thoroughly. It was the fourth toothbrush this month because he just couldn't convince himself that these damned things were  _clean_  after the third or forth go...  
  
Walking into the kitchen, he saw his child's father concentrating on the tea cup in front of him. Then, carefully, he took the packet out of the cup and threw it away.  
  
"You're really steeping it? I thought you just left them in the entire time." England teased as he stepped up beside him, amused.  
  
America made an annoyed noise in his throat. "Yes,  _I do that_  because the taste is too weak for me otherwise. But this cup isn't for me. I told you that already."  
  
There was a definite flutter in his chest at the idea of America making him tea, "I'm just surprised you would attempt to prepare it like I do." He hadn't ever instructed the other man, so it must have been something he had picked up from watching.  
  
America simply rolled his shoulders in a noncommittal shrug.  
  
No matter, England took the cup gratefully and eased himself down into a chair at the informal dining table. "Thank you all the same." He said, taking a sip. His stomach was still rolling but the gentle taste of ginger soothed him only just slightly.  
  
"Are you really alright? That's the third time you've thrown up today." America said, giving him a sideways glance from where he leaned against the counter. There was something drawn in about his features, as though he were  _worried_.  
  
" _I'm fine_ , really." England sat back in his chair and nursed the cup. "I  _have_  experienced much worse than this. And no screaming, crying ball of your genetics is going suddenly make me into the damsel you want me to be."  
  
America balked, "I never called you a damsel."  
  
"No, but you're acting like I'm one." England chided. "The moment I have a  _real_  problem,  _god help us_ , you'll be the first to know. I swear that to you." From the corner of his eye he could see the other nation's shoulders visibly relax and it relieved him a little.  
  
He was fairly certain America hadn't slept well in  _days_  from the tension he had set around himself like a little blanket.  
  
"Now go finish up that paperwork-- I saw that stack in the office. You're not fooling anyone with all this procrastinating."  
  
America hesitated, looking at him longingly for a moment. England almost thought he was going to pull him into the office  _with him_  just so that he could keep an eye on him  _there_  too.  
  
"Go." England scolded, giving his best 'you march right on and do what I say, young man' scowl.  
  
It only elicited a soft laugh and the words, "Alright,  _alright_..." as America strode out of the room.  
  
  
  
Two hours later he was vomiting up the tea and the spell was broken. England was unable to shake the fretting American off for the rest of the night.


	2. Fatigue

Today they were shopping for the baby.  
  
It was a little premature, really, but it was what it was. America had suggested going out and, really, at two months in this was the only thing he could actually think of that sounded slightly engaging. Besides, he reasoned that he needn't buy anything he didn't like and what he  _did_  like he could simply tuck away in his mind until a later date. It wasn't as though looking at a cradle meant he was agreeing to purchase it.  
  
At least, that's what America had said and it felt like sound logic.  
  
Still, even with getting out of the house, he didn't feel any less sluggish. Quite honestly, he felt  _worse_. This was supposed to snap him out of that damned stupor he had been lulling about in and yet he just felt like his entire body was trying to move through molasses.  
  
What was worse was that this particular thing America seemed entirely oblivious to as they moved through the store, the taller man giddily pointing to this and that and asking his opinion as a confused retail employee watched them with questioning eyes.  
  
It was obvious they were a couple from the way America spoke and he found only a sliver of humor in the entire thing, too tired to care to be embarrassed.  
  
Yes, that's what it was. He was...  _tired_.  
  
His head snapped up as a hand gripped his shoulder and England realized with a start that he'd nearly fallen asleep on his feet. A surge of adrenaline had him suddenly very,  _very_  awake and he blinked owlishly as he looked up at America's face.  
  
The other nation was just staring at him, eyes searching. Eventually America released his shoulder and leaned back. "Are you alright?" He asked, that lovely forehead wrinkling as he frowned in open concern.  
  
"Yes-- Fine. I'm fine..." England said before he could even think about the question, dismissing the concern.  
  
America just shifted back on his heels and made a disapproving sound in his throat. "If you say so..."  
  
England was about to confirm that,  _yes dear_ , he was  _fine_ , but then America spoke again:  
  
"... 'cause you  _promised_  to tell me if you weren't feeling well..."  
  
Emerald eyes flickered up to meet serious blues and England sighed, world weary. "Yes, okay, alright, I feel like I'm going to collapse at any second really. I'm just so  _bloody exhausted_ ," the other man's hand was on his shoulder and guiding him out the store as he spoke, "and I really want nothing more than to just have a nice lie in and  _oh god_  Alfred I just want a nap..." It was all spilling out in uncontrollable babble but he didn't care. He was so  _damn_  tired.  
  
"C'mon, let's just get to the car. I'll drive so you can sleep on the way back..." America said in that soft tone that made England feel like a schoolgirl with a crush.  
  
"Git, you have to remember to--," he yawned, "to drive on the right side of the road..."  
  
America exhaled a short laugh. "You say that like I've never driven in your country before..."   
  
The words were followed by him ushering England into the passenger's side seat and it didn't matter that he wanted to protest because as soon as his body relaxed into the chair he was done for.  
  
He fell asleep to a hand stroking his hair and the soft purr of a car engine.


	3. Mood Swings

England felt like he was going mad.  
  
And his suspicions were confirmed when he threw a paperweight at his secretary--missing her, thankfully--accompanied by the words, "You've never been pregnant; don't tell me what to do!" despite the fact that he  _knew_  she had had three children all in her time while working under him since he'd reluctantly replaced her during her maternity leaves...  
  
The secretary, bless her heart, seemed less phased by this than a normal person might have been and called America-- a number she had quickly memorized over the last several months.  
  
England grimaced at the knock on his door but the visitor entered before he could fully hide his pitiful snuffling. He gave America a teary, "Sod off." as greeting.  
  
The taller nation just approached him with a casual stride until he was at his side and Arthur refused to look up from where he was laying his arms on his desk. "Alice tells me you're not feeling well."  
  
"Alice is a right prat." England retorted. His hair was ruffled for his efforts and he made an indignant noise in his throat as he batted the hand away. "I don't want to live in your country." He defended himself.  
  
America knelt next to the chair, trying to look England in the eye, but the older nation turned his head away, stubborn. America sighed, "Where did this come from...?"  
  
"Alice." England said, bristling. He felt fingers on his chin and before he knew it he was staring into deep blue eyes. His breath caught.  
  
"What exactly did Alice say...?"  
  
England swallowed, "She... asked if I would ever be raising the child in... in your country..." He set his jaw. "I don't want to. I won't."  
  
There was a hurt look in America's eyes that England wanted to cry at, but it disappeared all too quickly, "Alright." The nation said. No argument. Nothing.  
  
Anger dissipated to despair instantaneously. "D- don't misunderstand--," England protested, tears springing to his eyes as he started to bawl like a child. America pulled him out of the chair in alarm, cradling him in his arms on the floor, but he was too consumed with his fit to fight it. "It-- it'd like you better!" He whined pathetically into that well-pressed suit, fingers that weren't his combing through his hair. "It wouldn't want to be with me anymore--,"  
  
"Sh, sh, sh..." America murmured, holding him close. "Is that what this is about? You _know_ that's not true..."  
  
England struck him on the chest with a fist, but it was weak and with barely any force behind it. "You're too-- too  _bloody_  perfect--,"  
  
"England..." The younger nation sighed. "Any child of yours will probably be just as prickly and unhappy about my country as you are. Gosh-- he or she might even  _hate_  it. Wouldn't that be something?"  
  
The English nation jerked his head up, meeting America's eyes as a feeling of terror gripped his chest. "No-- no, you're the father--," He struggled for words. "I- it can't hate you! That would be terrible...!"  
  
America looked at a loss as England broke out into fresh tears, this time ones of grieving and sadness. He pulled the emotional nation to his feet gently and guided him out of the building, mouthing thanks to the slightly amused secretary.  
  
On the way home England cycled through indignation, irritation, full on anger, and then, as though a flip was switched, started to attempt to seduce America in the car.  
  
The younger nation wasn't really sure how to deal with all of this, but England seemed so much more lively and honest like this and he couldn't really find it in himself to dislike it.


	4. A Cold

Four months.  
  
They were four months in now and England was absolutely  _convinced_  that there was a baby bump and that he was starting to look pudgy and fat, despite the fact that America, for the life of him, just couldn't see it. Maybe England was a little  _rounder_... Maybe? But if so it was definitely not noticeable.  
  
Still, a few nations had given America some very helpful daddy books and so he would simply respond with a very sweet, very genuine, "You're  _beautiful_ , dear."  
  
England could never really tell whether he felt flattered or indignant towards the assurance of his  _beauty_ , but he did feel sufficiently flustered so he often let the issue go. America had taken to complimenting his appearance  _a lot_  lately...  
  
 _"You're positively glowing, babe."_  
  
 _"You're so sexy."_  
  
 _"Your skin looks so soft today."_  
  
... For once he couldn't really find it in him to complain. He felt doted upon and it rather soothed his anxiety more than it elicited any form of anger.  
  
Unfortunately that attitude had passed over into the public sphere, England realized, as, at a world meeting, America turned to him and said, "You look so beautiful right now."  
  
England flushed five shades of red but he was too sick and too fatigued to care to storm out of the room so he settled on glowering at anyone who even  _looked_  like they might have wanted to laugh. To his surprise, no one said a word about it, ignoring it as though it had never happened. England relaxed slightly and cocked his head at America, who was still looking at him with an open expression of adoration.  
  
"Your face is stupid." England snuffled, irritated that his nose was stuffed up. It had been this way for a week now, so he shamelessly blew his nose to release some of the pressure on his sinuses before throwing the tissue in the bin beside him.  
  
America just laughed, looking genuinely happy. England felt a little war within himself before his own expression settled on reluctant fondness.  
  
After the meeting, as they packed up, England started coughing and America was there in a heartbeat to fret over him, despite having been previously talking to France. "Are you alright?"  
  
"Fine, fine-- Just a cold, love." He responded, dismissing the concern. His head felt cloudy and his throat stung, but he really wasn't all that badly off. Still, America looked unconvinced.  
  
"Let's get you back to the hotel room." He said, starting to gather England's things for him. Tired, England let him. "And then we'll order in, alright? You wanted to watch that new movie didn't you...?"  
  
England thought about this for a moment. Yes, they had more work to do tomorrow and he really should have been going over his notes but... "Yes, that sounds lovely. Tea and it's a date, hm?"  
  
America chuckled slightly. "Deal."  
  
"Oh, how cute." Said a new voice, and England turned to find Russia standing there, looking rather out of place.  
  
"Oh, ah..." England faltered, not feeling energetic enough to keep up with the childlike personality of the larger nation. "Hello, Russia."  
  
"Can I touch?" Russia asked.  
  
"... Pardon?"  
  
"Your stomach." Russia said, pointing in case England didn't understand.  
  
England had never been particularly fond of Russia, but this was the very first time this had ever happened to him and he had no idea how to react to it so he ended up stammering out a reluctant, "I-- ah, I suppose you may..."  
  
Russia closed the gap between them slightly, reaching forward to hover his hand over England's lower stomach before very slowly placing his palm against his suit and pressing just  _slightly_.  
  
It was an extraordinarily careful motion for the normally very strange nation and England could only just stand there.  
  
After a moment Russia pulled away again, looking faintly enamored with the island nation's stomach. "There was old saying... that I do not remember now, but... it was something like, _'A mother nation bears the livelihood of all of us.'_ " Russia paused, still staring at his stomach. "Take care of it, da?" And without waiting for a response, he walked away.  
  
Once the other nation was gone, England suddenly realized just how surreal that had been. "What was that about?" He looked to find America behind him, tense. "America?"  
  
The younger nation snapped of it, relaxing visibly. "We should go back to the hotel." He said, handing England the items he had collected for him so that he could loop his arm around the smaller nation's back as they walked out of the room.  
  
England wasn't buying it. "Did that bother you?" He asked, surprised. Although honestly it should have bothered  _England_ , too, but it didn't somehow.  
  
"Um..." America seemed to be unsure how to answer that. "I don't... trust Russia on a good day. I  _really_  don't trust him around important things." The hand curled around England's hip tightened.  
  
So that's how it was...  
  
He felt slightly giddy and warm by the thought of how protective America seemed in that moment, but he kept it to himself. "Let's get back and order dinner, poppet." He said endearingly, letting his side press into America's. "If you think I'm so sexy, I want you to prove it in bed."  
  
America choked slightly, a noise that was half a sputter and half a laugh. He hailed a taxi as he said, "But you're sick!"  
  
England made a hum noise, thoughtful. "Then we'll just have to play doctor."


	5. Aches

It was  _supposed_  to be a quiet, relaxing night in, but of course it wasn't.  
  
He was six months along now and, despite his very opinionated thoughts on the matter, he was told to stay home by both his lover and his doctor. It was only just six months, he had argued. Weaker women than him had still attended to their duties.  
  
Yet somehow him being a  _nation_  made it a priority that he rest, so, bitter, he stayed home. No amount of,  _'You really are already working hard by doing all of this!'_  or  _'It's only a few months and you'll be grateful to be at home soon enough-- you'll see.'_  could convince him.  
  
What was worse was that America even handled him with child's gloves in his own home, asking if he was alright? Did he need anything? Were his pillows adjusted right? Water? Tea? On and on, doting like a mother over a cold-stricken firstborn. It drove him mad. He wasn't weak. He didn't understand why everyone was convinced that he couldn't handle this.  
  
And then the cramps had started.  
  
It was small at first, little contractions that would shoot tiny sparks of pain up his chest and spine. They were very small, mildly uncomfortable, and really nothing to worry about. He had read in several books that something like this might happen, so he tried not to fuss about it.  
  
Yet somehow that marked the beginning of more.  
  
While the contractions were rather rare and easily bearable, it was the aching of his body and the rawness that he felt in his lower spine that really got to him. He wasn't even close to the end and yet if this was a problem  _now_  he could only imagine how bad it would be near his due date. Somehow that all culminated in this night, where he was supposed to be resting at home while America was off wrapping up a late meeting. Typically there would be nothing wrong with such an arrangement, but the aching in his back and body made him antsy.  
  
It was... quite difficult to ignore, so he had ended up making some tea and, after a tremendous struggle with the stairs, had found himself comfort in laying in his bed. Yet it wasn't quite enough to make him relax completely. The mild, continuous pain in his body made him feel on edge and he cursed himself for not thinking to bring his cell phone up here with him. It was nearing seven in the evening and America still wasn't home...  
  
He was definitely late.  
  
A whirring of thought erupted in his mind, but it was shut down by exhaustion. He didn't want to think about it, really. America would be home when he was home and until then he would just have to bear this alone. In a way, he was  _grateful_  for the solitude-- it meant that no one else had to see his weakness.  
  
Somehow he fell into an uneasy sleep only to awake to the soft feeling of fingers sifting through his hair.  
  
He blinked open bleary green eyes, glancing up to find America smiling gently down at him. "Hey..." The other nation murmured, voice filled with a myriad of emotions that England didn't want to think about.  
  
"Mm..." He shut his eyes again, allowing those fingers to keep stroking his hair without protest. It felt undeniably good.  
  
A soft chuckle sounded above him followed by, "How are you feeling?"  
  
"Like shite..." England answered, too tired to lie. His body was still thrumming with that very mild pain that just made him feel irritable and fatigued.  
  
"What's wrong, babe?" America asked, still petting his hair. At this point he had long given up protesting the nicknames.  
  
"I feel sore everywhere..." The island nation admitted. "Also had some cramping earlier..." Leave it to his lover to take advantage of him while coaxing out answers with those deft fingers.  
  
America was quiet for a minute or so, just simply sitting there in comfortable silence. Eventually he shifted to lay on the bed beside him, spooning England as he wrapped his arms around so that he could press his hands to the other nation's rounded stomach. "Are you causing trouble for mommy...?" He said, voice half serious and half playful.  
  
England internally groaned, "No, don't start with _that_..." He muttered, but it fell on deaf ears. America just laughed, nuzzling the back of his neck.  
  
"Little guy needs to learn to be nice to you. Maybe it'll listen to me?"  
  
"You're an idiot." England retorted. "No one listens to you."  
  
America laughed again, his hand drawing little circles on the skin of England's stomach. It was an oddly soothing motion. "Well you're carrying this idiot's child so if it got anything from me then maybe it's an idiot too."  
  
England exhaled a sharp breath, "Oh please, I don't need _two_ of you..."  
  
"It won't be a second me. It'll be a half-git, half-Brit."  
  
"..." England was quiet for a moment, trying to understand if he had heard right, but when he processed what had been said he couldn't help but laugh. And then once it started, he couldn't exactly get it to stop. His aching body was shaking as he tried to suppress it in vain, "That is-- that is the-- the  _dumbest_ \---," America's arms tightened around him slightly and he felt that cold nose nuzzling at his bare neck.  
  
"All it'll eat is burgers and scones. Just you watch."  
  
"Oh p- please-- no,"  
  
"My eyes and your eyebrows."  
  
"F- fuck, stop it-- I can't--,"  
  
"Can you imagine? Tea and coffee together. Absolutely blasphemous."  
  
"K- knock it-- o- off," England protested, unable to stop the giddy jumps of laughter in his chest. It was all just too ridiculous. He couldn't remember the last time he had laughed this hard.  
  
America was silent for a moment and he could have hoped that perhaps he had truly stopped and thus the embarrassing fit could come to an end.  
  
"Shakespeare and NASCAR."  
  
 _Fuck_.


	6. Cravings

It was three in the morning and England was shaking America awake like a man possessed.  
  
" _Mm_ \--... what-- huh? Arthur, what the hell... What issit--?" The larger nation grumbled, trying to bury his head in the pillow before a bolt of alarm hit him and he lurched up into a sitting position. "Is the baby okay!?"  
  
England blinked up at him in the darkness. "What? Of course!" He said, frowning.  
  
"Then why...?"  
  
"I'm hungry."  
  
America was peering at England now like he suspected the European nation to have been replaced by an alien. "You... woke me up because you're hungry?" He said.  
  
"Yes." England drew his lips into a firm line, challenging America to question him.  
  
"Well, uh... okay... okay, then, um... What do you want to eat?"  
  
The island nation turned his head away, looking pained. Normally it might have been cute to America, but at three in the morning it lost some of its charm. England finally opened his mouth, grumbling something inaudible.  
  
"What?"  
  
"McD... ld... s..."  
  
"... _McDonald's_?" America said, certain he was mistaken, but from the way England hunched his shoulders he knew that must have been what he had said. "You want McDonald's? At three in the morning?"  
  
"... Yes." England said, sounding remorseless.  
  
"Can it wait until morning?"  
  
The look the pregnant nation gave him made him fear for his livelihood.  
  
"Okay,  _okay_... I'll go get you--,"  
  
"I want to go too."  
  
America groaned. "Hun. Babe." He said, leaning forward and hugging him. "You're almost due. We can't have you wandering around outside-- you're  _male_. People will ask questions."  
  
England immediately started to tear up and America felt his heart sink, "Y- you mean I'm  _fat_..." He half-sobbed.  
  
Well, yes, England was a little fat--  _with a baby_. Yet no matter what, he very well couldn't say  _that_. "No, no-- you're carrying a baby. No one thinks you're fat." He reassured, stroking his lover's hair. This was hilariously ironic considering that England had poked fun at his nearly nonexistent flab for the past twenty years...  
  
Not that he would bring that up now.  
  
"I just don't want you to get hurt, is all." He said. It was mostly true.  
  
England sniffled. "I want to go." He said stubbornly. "I can just stay in the car..."  
  
That didn't sound so bad. "If you're sure..."  
  
And so that was how he ended up driving England around London at three in the morning while looking for a McDonald's that was open all night. The GPS gave him directions in a pleasant English lilt as his pregnant lover stared out the window at the going ons of the humans as though he hadn't seen it all before.  
  
When they had almost reached the golden arches, England made a displeased sound.  
  
"What's wrong?"  
  
"... I need to use the washroom..."  
  
America stared at him. "You used it  _just_  before we left. We've only been driving for five minutes! Can't you hold it?"  
  
England shook his head, face turning read from what was likely embarrassment. Considering that the nation had been home for the last month, this hadn't really been an issue before. Sure, he used the bathroom a lot, but when it was at home it was  _convenient_  and  _not a problem_.  
  
"Okay, um... Your coat's in the back right? Just put your hood up and, uh... it should be fine."  
  
It took a few more minutes, but they found a drug store and America led him inside, explaining quickly to the confused cashier that his pregnant wife just needed to use the bathroom. The best lies were always the ones that were half-true, after all.  
  
After that was over they headed to the McDonald's and made their way into the drive through, seeing as the lobby was closed this late. Apparently England was having a craving for burgers and fries, much to America's own amusement, and he couldn't help the soft jab as they waited for their food to be brought to the window, "Seems it takes after me, huh?"  
  
"I should hope not." England said, pouting. "I probably just want salt and fat. Who wouldn't?"  
  
"I have never, in all my years, seen you  _voluntarily_  eat McDonald's.  _Ever_. Let alone being so desperate that you would have me drive out here in the middle of the night." He smiled over at the shorter man, watching as England squirmed. "So if it doesn't take after me, then that means you just really, secretly liked my food all along..."  
  
"What!? Bollocks!"  
  
"No, really. Think about it. You just admitted that you love my food..."  
  
"That is complete nonsense, you insufferable--,"  
  
"But you just said so yourself." America pointed out.  
  
"No! I--, no!" England crossed his arms over his chest and looked out the window. "You're an idiot. We will never speak of this again."  
  
"Mm hm..."  
  
After a few minutes of silence, England shifted uncomfortably as they waited in for their order.  
  
"Something wrong?"  
  
"... I..." England fidgeted. "I need to use the washroom again..."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Really."  
  
No matter how much he loved England or how excited he was for their baby, America was really looking forward to when this would all be over.


	7. Labor

It wouldn't have been England and America's child if it didn't have the worst possible timing.  
  
"You're sure you can do this?" America had asked-- not once, not twice, but  _three_  times that morning.  
  
"Yes, damn it all!" England had bit back, heavy with child and awkwardly staring down at his unbuttoned suit. The baby wasn't due for another two weeks and he couldn't just discard his responsibility as a nation. He had to attend this conference. It was only just in France. It was too close to  _not_  go.  
  
"If you change your mind..."  
  
"I  _will not_  change my mind. Christ, America." England shook his head and took a breath, trying to calm himself. America wisely said no more.  
  
And that was how they had ended up in Paris with the English nation nearly due and a subdued, but rather concerned, father-of-child.  
  
So, of course, that had to mean that England's water broke during the opening presentations.  
  
He had been experiencing very slight contractions for the few hours prior, but he had just kept telling himself to keep a stiff upper lip about it. Yet when he felt a rush of water in his trousers he realized, belatedly, that perhaps he should have listened to America after all.  
  
The sound of liquid spilling onto the floor caught the attention of the nearest nations, but before the others could notice the commotion America yelled, "Shit, England-- is it time!?"  
  
And now they had everyone's attention-- most notably France's, who stood up looking fairly alarmed.  
  
England, despite everything, just felt properly mortified.  
  
Yet that feeling didn't last very long as the host nation approached them on a swift click of heels, crooking a hand under the mother-to-be's arm and lifting him up until he was standing. "No time for cold feet,  _l'Angleterre_ , to the hospital with you." France said.  
  
And then, like gears jerking to a start, everything fell into motion.  
  
America took over in guiding England out as France was quick to command a car over his cell phone. By the time they had reached the entrance, a vehicle was already parked out front and waiting. Abandoning the conference, the three nations got into the car.  
  
"Call his doctor." France told America, which the fretting nation did without question.  
  
England was in a bad way. Before the cramps had been anywhere from mild to painful but he had been able to brush them off after they had subsided. Now, however, there was a simmering of apprehension under the surface as he realized that he was about to give birth to a  _child_  and he had no idea how he was supposed to cope with that knowledge.  
  
A hand grabbed his and England was startled to see that it was France gripping it, not America.  
  
"You'll be fine." The Frenchman said, ice blue eyes softening.  
  
England bit his lip and, after a moment, gave a soft huff. "I know that! I don't need  _you_  to tell me..." He said, although he conveniently forget to shirk off the other nation's hand.  
  
France gave America a pointed glance, who caught the cue just as the former nation released England's hand. Shifting closer, the-father-to-be snaked an arm around England's shoulder, drawing the man's head to rest against his own. "This is pretty exciting, huh?" America murmured softly, as though it were a secret.  
  
Exciting...  
  
"I suppose it is." England admitted.   
  
America grabbed his hand and squeezed it. "Just imagine how cute it'll be when you first hold it..."  
  
England bit his lip, feeling himself tear up. "Y- yes..." A child. He was having a child.  
  
Lord in heaven, he was delivering a  _baby_.  
  
How on earth had it come to this?  
  
"I- I just..." England continued, voice choked with an undertone of nervous joy. "I just pray it's not as bloody obnoxious as  _you_ are..." He said, an emotional laugh bubbling up in his throat.  
  
America couldn't help but feel his eyes water as he laughed too.   
  
If this pregnancy had been any indication, they were about to have their hands full.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You've made it to the end! I hope you enjoyed this collection of shorts from the life of poor, pregnant England. I always have loved Arthur mpreg, so writing all of his various symptoms, as per the kink meme request, was a lot of fun.
> 
> Poor guys. I hope they're prepared to never sleep again.


End file.
